I own more than a few cookbooks. I even maintain a small ‘vintage’ collection whose tomes often include amusing “household management” tips in the back. What is the point of this, you ask? Well, if the internet goes down, at least I will still know how best to whiten The General’s spats, while I’m jugging a few hares in the larder …
Anyway, the point is, despite all the recipes online (and a set of binders that house personal recipes!) I still struggle with how to cook with less meat. Although I really love veggies – not a huge carnivore at all – the main motivation is to do The Right Thing for our burning planet and now, frankly, my budget. But over and over by Wednesday I grow bored with tomato based dinners, anything approaching Tex-Mex or soaking cashews overnight. (I have tried, I am sorry – as a texture person I simply cannot embrace the vegan staple of “cashew cream.”) There is something about this putty-hued sludge that just makes me gag.
I have been redecorating my office. Disturbingly, this is something that has not happened for 27 years. I found myself looking at the inside of a door etched with the frantic nail scratching of a sweet dog, long since passed, who was frightened by thunder; paintable ‘Anaglypta‘ wallpaper now stiffly rippling with age, rising up like Japanese Wave Art across one wall; loopy, repulsive carpet when peeled back, reveals an ancient spotty underpad that always reminds me of Pimiento Loaf. (You know the one: a beige deli ‘meat’ with festive coloured bits sprinkled throughout. Spoiler: Those bits will not be maraschinos …)
Beneath the underpad is random, dirty flooring comprised of a variety of planks that likely originated from the garage of some drunken uncles who installed many years before …
There was much for me to do.